


Season's of Love

by mskullgirl



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:09:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mskullgirl/pseuds/mskullgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hi! I’m, uh, Kevin Lynch, and my roommate over there,” He said, pointing the camera to a corner where a young man with an untrimmed beard was trying to tune a guitar. “Is Aaron Hotchner. We live in an industrial loft on the corner of 11th street and Avenue B, the top floor of what was once a music publishing factory. It's December 24th, Nine PM Eastern Standard Time and we are fucking freezing because we have no heat.”</p><p>(RENT AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Voicemail #1

“Shit!” Kevin exclaimed as his ancient 16mm movie camera detached from its tripod and crashed to the floor. He scrambled over to it, sighed with relief that nothing was broken, and turned the device on. He adjusted his glasses and smiled at the camera before panning over the rest of the room. There wasn’t much to see other than an illegal wood burning stove with an exhaust pipe crawling up to a skylight in the center of the loft. All the electrical appliances, a telephone, a guitar amp, a hot plate, and a couple of lamps were connected to one long extension cord which snakes out a window. After sweeping over the whole space Kevin turned the camera back to himself.  

“Hi! I’m, uh, Kevin Lynch, and my roommate over there,” He said, pointing the camera to a corner where a young man with an untrimmed beard was trying to tune a guitar. “Is Aaron Hotchner. We live in an industrial loft on the corner of 11th street and Avenue B, the top floor of what was once a music publishing factory. It's December 24th, Nine PM Eastern Standard Time and we are fucking freezing because we have no heat.” The small fire in the stove crackled half-heartedly before dying. 

“And we’re out of firewood.” Kevin sighed. “Anyways, my old stuff has been kind of shitty so I’m trying something new and shooting without a script.” He zoomed in on Hotch who was frowning and fiddling with his guitar. 

“First shot -- Hotch tuning the Fender guitar he hasn't played in a year.”

“This won't tune.” Hotch grumbled, brow furrowed in frustration. The guitar made a noise like a dying cat.

“I can tell.” Kevin said, wincing, as he turned the camera back to himself. “He's just coming back from half a year of withdrawal.”

**“** Are you talking to me?” Hotch called from off screen.

**“** No.” Kevin lied, swinging the camera around so it was pointed right at Hotch’s annoyed face. “Tell the folks at home what you're doing Hotch…” Hotch blinked at the camera uncertainly and gestured at the un-tuned guitar

“I'm writing one great song -” The ringing of the telephone cut him off. **“** Saved!” He muttered under his breath. 

“Zoom in on the answering machine!” Kevin said excitedly, doing just that. 

_ "Speak" ... ("Beeeep!") _

_ “That was a very loud beep.” _ An older woman’s voice said.  _ “I don't even know if this darn thing is working. Kevin -Kev -are you there, are you screening your calls? - It's mom.” _ Kevin groaned quietly, slumping down on a dilapidated green sofa. 

_ “Anyways, we wanted to call and say we love you and we'll miss you tomorrow. Your sister and the kids are here -- send their love. Oh, I hope you like the hot plate. Just don't leave it on, dear when you leave the house. Oh, and Kevin, we're sorry to hear that Penny dumped you. There are other fishies in the sea sweetheart, if she wants to be a lesbian then it’s her loss.” _ Hotch snickered quietly from his seat. 

_ “Love Mom!” _ Mrs. Lynch concluded in a cheery, festive voice, before hanging up. 

“Okay, take two.” Kevin said, face slightly pink with embarrassment. “Tell the folks at home what you're doing Aaron.”

Hotch looked forlornly at the camera, realizing he wasn’t off the hook after all. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“I'm, uh, I’m writing one great song -” The phone rang again, much to the young man’s relief. 

_ "Speak" ... ("Beeeep!") _ The answering machine chirped. 

_ "Chestnuts roasting ---" _ A familiar, deep voice sang. Hotch looked up from his work as Kevin practically dove across the room and picked up the phone. 

“Morgan!”

_ “I'm downstairs.” _ The two men raced to the window and looked down. An attractive black man in a skullcap poked his head out of a payphone and waved at them. 

_ “Throw down the key.” _ He called, holding his hand out. Kevin pulled out a small leather pouch and dropped it from the window. Morgan reached out his arm and caught it. Kevin hurriedly turned off his camera and stowed it away, grinning excitedy the whole time.

“Oh this’ll be great!” He exclaimed. “Just like old times. I mean it would be better if we had some food or some booze but-.”

_ “Uh, guys.” _ Morgan said into the phone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two sketchy looking men carrying clubs moving his way.  _ “I may be detained.” _ He quickly hung up the phone and turned to face his would-be-attackers. 

“What does he mean...?” Kevin asked in confusion as the line suddenly dropped. The phone began to ring again seconds later and he picked it up on the second ring. “What do you mean ‘detained’?”

_ “Ho ho ho.”  _ A decidedly female voice replied. 

“Strauss!” Kevin hissed, covering the mouthpiece of the phone. 

“Shit!” Hotch cursed. He moved closer to Kevin so they could both hear the conversation.

_ “Gentlemen I’m on my way.” _ the voice continued. 

“Great!” Kevin responded with fake cheerfulness. 

“Fuck.” Hotch groaned. 

_ “I need the rent.” _

“What rent?” Kevin said indignantly.

_ “This past year’s rent that I let slide.” _

“Let slide? You said we were ‘golden’.”

“When you bought the building.” Hotch added, anger clear in his voice. 

“When we were roommates.” Kevin agreed. “Remember? You lived here!?” Strauss could be heard exhaling wearily.

**_“_ ** _ How could I forget? You, me, Morgan and Penelope.”  _ She said the last name with distaste. “ _ How is the drama queen doing these days?”  _ Kevin bristled; he and Penny weren’t on the best of terms, not after she’d torn out his heart and broke it into a thousand pieces, but he still automatically lept to her defense.

“Well she’s performing tonight.”

_ “So I’ve heard.” _ Strauss said, obviously unimpressed.  _ “Are you still her production manager?” _

“I was.” Kevin said dejectedly. “Up until two days ago.” Hotch shot him a sympathetic look.

_ “I take it you two are no longer dating.” _

“Um,” Kevin stuttered, chewing his bottom lip. “The thing about that is, uh, we didn’t really, I mean-.”

“She dumped him.” Hotch said bluntly. “She’s in love.”

_ “A new man in her life?” _

“Not exactly.” Kevin said glumly.

_ “What’s his name?” _

“Jennifer.” The two men said in unison. There was a moment of silence before Strauss started laughing, a deep throaty laugh that neither man had heard in a long time. She quickly regained control of herself, voice once again taking on a professional tone.

“ _ Rent, my friends, is due.”  _ She said sternly.  _ “Or you’ll leave me no choice but to evict you. I’ll be there shortly.”  _ Without further ado she hung up. Angry, and more than a little embarrassed Kevin slammed the phone down on the receiver. Hotch defiantly picked out Musetta's theme from Puccini's La Boheme on the guitar. Moments later a fuse on his amp exploded. The lights flickered for a moment before the flat plunged into darkness. 

“And now the power’s out.” Kevin said. “Joy to the fucking world.” 

 


	2. Rent/Voicemail #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hi. You've reached Penelope and JJ. Leave a message and don't forget "Over the Moon" -- My performance, protesting the eviction of the Homeless (and artists) from the Eleventh Street Lot. Tonight at midnight in the lot between A and B. Party at Life Cafe to follow (BEEP)”

Jennifer Jareau shifted from foot to foot in an attempt to stave of the cold. Outside the phone booth the wind howled ominously and dark clouds gathered overhead. It looked as though it was going to be a white christmas after all. She dialed the familiar phone number and tapped her foot impatiently as the phone rang.

_ “Hi. You've reached Penelope and JJ. Leave a message and don't forget "Over the Moon" -- My performance, protesting the eviction of the Homeless (and artists) from the Eleventh Street Lot. Tonight at midnight in the lot between A and B. Party at Life Cafe to follow (BEEP)”  _ JJ sighed tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Don't screen, Penny It's me -- JJ Your substitute production manager. Hey hey hey!... Did you eat?... Don’t change the subject Penny... But darling you haven’t had anything to eat since last night!....  You won’t throw up…. Sweetheart you won’t throw up I promise… No, the digital delay didn’t explode.” JJ glanced at her reflection in the shiney metal before her. Her eyebrows were ever so slightly singed.

“There may have been one teeny tiny spark… You’re NOT calling Kevin!”

* * *

Erin Rossi nee Strauss had her cellphone pressed to her ear as she wove in and out of traffic. She glanced out at the darkening sky with annoyance. 

“David darling,” she said cheerfully as she drove toward 11th street “You sound sad… She what?... Oh, David I’m so sorry love, I’ll be home as soon as I can… yes I just need to straighten up this mess with Garcia and the boho boys… I know, I can’t believe those two after everything I’ve done… Every since our wedding I’m dirt…. They’ll see, it’s all in their best interest… I’m almost there darling but I’ll see you soon… Merry Christmas to you to, bye.”

* * *

“Penny I’m not a theater person!" JJ said in exacerbation. "Could never be a theater person… Hello? Penny are you there? Hello?”

* * *

“Hello?” Kevin said cautiously into the phone. Behind him Hotch was tossing old screenplays and posters into the stove and attempting to get a fire going. It was so cold Kevin could see his breath in front of him.

“Penny?” He asked in surprise. “... Your equipment won’t work?... What about-?... No, I…. Okay, alright, I’ll head over there right now.”

* * *

 

“Hi. You've reached Penelope and JJ. Leave a message and don't forget "Over the Moon" -- My performance, protesting the eviction of the Homeless (and artists) from the Eleventh Street Lot. Tonight at midnight in the lot between A and B. Party at Life Cafe to follow (BEEP)”

_ “Well, Jenny -- We're off to the Johnson’s Christmas party.” _ A serious sounding male voice said. “I tried you at the office. And they said you're stage managing or something…”

**_“_ ** _ Remind her that those unwed mothers in Harlem need her legal help too.” _ A female voice interrupted. 

* * *

“This is Emily. I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon as I can. (BEEP)”

**“Emily, darling, this is your mother. Call me and Dad when you can. We’re leaving for the airport right now. You can call Daisy for our itinerary or Alfred at Pound Ridge or Eileen at the state department in an emergency. We'll be at the spa for new year's… Unless the senator changes his mind.”**

**_“The hearing!”_** A man’s voice called from somewhere far away.

**“Oh yes sweetheart- Mummy's confirmation hearing begins on the tenth. It would mean the world to me if you would come. We could make a holiday of it. I’m sure I could arrange another hotel room for you. Hope to see you by the sixth.”**

* * *

_ “Remember we have plans for brunch tomorrow. We’ll be expecting you, ALONE, at ten.” _

_ “Harold! Don’t listen to him Jennifer, we’d love for you AND Penelope to come. It’s just that your grandparents will be there and, well Penny can be a bit, uh, overwhelming. Actors you know. Perhaps if you got her to tone it down just a bit?” _

* * *

**“Honestly Emmy, you should see your mother. The hearing is three weeks away and she’s already nervous.”**

**“I am not!”**

* * *

_ “You know, maybe tell her to do without the blue eyeshadow and pink hair extensions.” _

_ “And wear a dress.” _

* * *

**“Oh, and Emily,”**

* * *

**_“Have a merry…”_ **

* * *

_ “And a bra!” _


	3. You Okay Honey?/ One Song Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Spencer.”  
> “What?” Morgan asked, blinking up at the boy.  
> “I'm Spencer.” The kid replied. He held out his hand to the seated man, a hopeful expression on his face.
> 
> TW: Mentions of suicide and miscarriage

Outside the 11th street phone booth a homeless man puttered around, pushing a shopping cart in front of him. In a hoarse, scratchy voice he sang to himself.    


“Christmas bells are ringing  
Christmas bells are ringing  
Christmas bells are ringing  
Somewhere else!  
Not here.”

 

A few feet away a thin boy who couldn’t have been more than twenty sat against a wall. A cardboard box was turned over in front of him and he had a deck of cards spread out on the top. His hands moved fluidly over the cards, gathering them and passing them from hand to hand effortlessly. With a flick of his wrist he seemed to make the card in his hand disappear. A moment later he pulled said card from behind his ear and shuffled the deck. A low moan makes him look up, scanning the street for the source of the sound. When he found none he went back to his cards. A few seconds later the sound comes again. Squinting into the darkness the boy can just make out a figure slumped against the wall of a nearby alley. He hesitated for just a moment before gathering his things and walking over to investigate.

 

Slowly, Derek Morgan felt himself regaining consciousness. The first thing he became aware of was the freezing cold that seems to have wormed its way into his bones. He realized after a moment that his coat was no longer wrapped around him and was in fact nowhere to be found. He attempted to sit up only to be gripped by the worst headache of his life. Reaching a hand up to his temple he felt warm wetness dripping down his face. 

A noise to his left made him look up, fearing that his attackers had returned. His vision was blurry but he could make out a figure moving toward him. As the figure drew nearer his features came into focus. Morgan could make out high cheekbones, full lips and inquisitive brown eyes staring down at him. With the glow of a nearby street lamp illuminating his face Morgan couldn’t help think that the boy looked like an angel.   
“You okay?” The angel asked in a soft tenor voice.  
“I'm afraid so.” Morgan said, trying once more to sit up. He groaned as his head once again began to throb. The boy bent down beside him to get a better look.  
“They get any money?”   
Morgan shook his head, laughing humorlessly.

“No, had none to get.” The kid pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and reached out to clean the blood from the older man’s face. Instinctively Morgan flinched away, shivering harder now. The boy’s eyes widened.

“Oh god, you must be freezing!”  
“The little bastards purloined my coat.” Morgan said, finally managing to haul himself into a sitting position.  
“You need to get to a hospital.” 

“No point.” He grunted. “It’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine in a bit.”

“You might have a concussion!” 

“In which case they’ll just tell me to rest and not to do anything too strenuous for the next few weeks. Trust me pretty boy, I’ll be okay.”

“Spencer.”

“What?” Morgan asked, blinking up at the boy.  
“I'm Spencer.” The kid replied. He held out his hand to the seated man, a hopeful expression on his face. Morgan couldn’t have refused those puppy-dog eyes if he wanted to. He grabbed Spencer’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled into a standing position.  
“Friends call me Morgan- Derek Morgan.” 

“Will you at least let me patch you up a little?” Spencer asked, still holding Morgan’s hand. “That cut on your head looks pretty deep. And I recently came into some money so I was thinking of getting something to eat if you’d like to come along? We can see about getting a new coat for you too, and I’m rambling aren’t I?” 

“But my friends are waiting…” Morgan said with extreme reluctance. The younger man looked down at the ground. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he said quickly. “But  about 3.6 million cases of open wounds are reported in the US annually and complications associated with open wounds may include i nfection,  cellulitis ,  deformity, overgrowth of scar tissue, gangrene that may require amputation-.”

“Woah, kid.” Morgan laughed, lifting the other man’s chin so they could see eye to eye. “Trust me there is nothing I would like more than to have you nurse me back to health. But my friends are probably hungry and freezing their asses off and I’d feel really bad just leaving them.”

“We could always pick up some food and bring it over to them.” Spencer suggested shyly. “It’s Christmas Eve after all. And like I said, I just came into some money.”

“You don’t have to-.”

“I know.” The younger man smiled. “Now come on.”   
  


* * *

  
“Where are you going?” Hotch asked suspiciously as Kevin headed for the door.

“Penny called…” 

“You are such a sucker!” Kevin frowned at him, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“I don't suppose you'd like to see her show in the lot tonight?” Hotch shrugged, not

looking up from his guitar.

“Or come to dinner?” Kevin asked hopefully. 

“Zoom in on my empty wallet.”

“Touche. Take your AZT.” Hotch held up a pill bottle and gave it a brief shake. Kevin stalled at the doorway, looking at his friend with a mixture of exacerbation and pity.  
“I'll check up on you later.” He said at last. “Think about it at least. You have to get out of the house.” Hotch didn’t respond and after a moment Kevin reluctantly left, closing the door behind him. 

“I’m writing one great song,” Hotch muttered to himself. “Before I…” he let his guitar slide to the floor, hands shaking. 

* * *

 

_ Trying to be as quiet as possible Hotch unlocked the door to his loft. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. He was relieved to see that the sofa was empty and the room was quiet. Sometimes when he came home late Haley would be sitting up waiting for him. She didn’t like it; said nothing good happened after midnight. A quick glance at his watch told Hotch it was just after 2:30. He cringed in anticipation of the lecture he would no doubt be receiving.   _

_ “Haley.” He whispered. “Haley, I’m home.” There was no response. He exhaled with relief. She must have gone to bed early.  _

_ Hotch walked further into the loft, hanging up his coat and putting down his guitar case. Half asleep he stumbled into the small kitchenette and grabbed a box of Cap’n’ Crunch. As he turned to get a bowl he froze, eyes falling on a note on the counter with “Aaron” written on it.  _

_ He sighed in frustration, half expecting Haley to have finally left him. They had been fighting more than ever lately, ever since her miscarriage a month ago. She thought Hotch blamed her because he had started staying out late more often than he used to. He didn’t blame her, there was no one to blame. He simply didn’t know how to deal with her sadness as well as his own. _

_ As he read the letter Hotch’s frown disappeared and his face turned ghostly white. Three words stared up at him from the paper, “WE HAVE AIDS.”  _

_ He read it again, jaw open and eyes wide. As the words began to sink in he rushed from the kitchen and headed toward the bedroom. His blood rushed in his ears and he couldn’t decide if he was pissed off or scared shitless. When he finally entered the bedroom he found the bed made and not slept in.  _

_ “Haley!” He called frantically, racing over to Kevin’s room. Computer monitors and movie equipment littered the room but there was no sign of Haley. Hotch turned and ran down the hall in a haze of panic.  _

_ “Haley goddamnit where are you?” Slowly, fearfully he opened the bathroom door and came face to face with his worst nightmare.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the information about open wounds here:   
> http://www.mdguidelines.com/open-wound


	4. Light My Candle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Got a light?” The girl asked, holding out a partially melted candle. “My power’s out too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay to be totally honest writing this chapter was like pulling teeth and I'm sorry if it isn't very good. But, it had to be done before I could move on so here it is! Enjoy!

A sharp knock on the door brought Hotch out of his memories. He rolled his eyes and strode over to the door. Trust Kevin to forget something when he was thinking about Penelope.

“What’d you-.” He asked, swinging the door open. A pretty dark-haired girl who was obviously not Kevin stood in the doorway. 

“-forget?” Hotch finished lamely. The girl smiled at him indulgently and god, her smile made him feel almost warm. 

“Got a light?” She asked, holding out a partially melted candel. “My power’s out too.” The more Hotch looked at her the more he got the sense he’d seen her before.

“Are you alright?” He eventually asks. “You're shivering.” The girl tooks this as an invitation to come in and when she brushed past him Hotch could smell her perfume. The scent, violets and honey, was also familiar.

“They turned off my heat is all.” The girl explained, drawing her sweater tighter around her with her free hand. “And I'm not feeling so good. Anyways, would you light this?” Once again she extended her arm toward Hotch, candle in hand. He could only blink at her trying to place her face.

“What are you staring at?” She asked, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

“Nothing.” Hotch said quickly. “Your hair in the moonlight.” He quickly pulled a half-empty

box of matches from his pocket, hoping to was too dark for her to see the blush making its way up his neck. 

“You look familiar.” Hotch added, striking a match. Moments later the candle was lit. 

“Thanks.” The girl smiled and turned to leave before abruptly stumbling and falling 

against the wall. Hotch hurried over to help her up.  
“Are you okay?”

“Fine. I just haven’t eaten much recently. Thanks again.” She brushed her hair away from her face, looking at Hotch with a questioning look.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No! It’s nothing, just, um, your smile reminded me of-.” 

“I always remind people of someone.” The girl said with a slightly sad smile. “Who is she? An ex?”

“She died.” Hotch said quietly, eyes facing downward. “Her name was Haley.” 

“Mother fucker-...” The girl muttered, glaring at the now un-lit candle.

“There’s drafts-.”

“Yeah that was probably it.” She said, moving slightly closer. “Sorry about your friend.”

“It happened awhile back.”  _ Six months, ten days actually. _

“That doesn’t make it any easier.” The girl said sympathetically. “Uh, could you?” She held the candle out again.

“Oh, yeah, sure, here…” Once again he lit the candle, the light briefly casting a glow over the girl’s pale face. A few awkward moments passed.

“Well-” Hotch tried.  
“Yeah.” The girl responded. “Ow!”

“What?”

“Wax is dripping.” She said, tilting the candle slightly. She gave Hotch a mischievous smile.   
“You know, I like it -- between my --”

“Fingers!” Hotch said quickly, the blush now staining his cheeks. “I figured. Uh, anyways. Goodnight.” He hurried over to his guitar, listening to the girl’s retreating footsteps and the sound of the door closing. No more than five seconds later there was a knock. With a groan Hotch stood and opened the door.  
“It blew out again?” He asked, eyebrow raised.  
“No - I think that I dropped my stash. Mind if I look in here?” Without waiting for an answer she walked in and started looking around.

“I had it when I walked in the door.”

“I really think I’ve seen you-.”

“Did I drop it?” She got down on all fours and started searching the floor for her stash, conveniently giving Hotch a perfect view of her ass. Her extremely attractive ass.   
“Is it true?” Hotch blinked and saw the girl had turned around and grinned at him knowingly.  
“What?”  
“You're staring again.” She clarified. “I’ve been told I have the best ass below 14th street. Do you agree?”  
“Oh no,” Hotch said quickly, taking a step back. ”I mean you do - have a nice-  
I mean, you look familiar.”  
“Like your dead girlfriend?” The girl responded although her voice was not unkind.

“Only when you smile. But I'm sure I've seen you somewhere else.”  
“Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club? That's where I work - dancing.”

“Yeah!” Hotch said excitedly. “Yeah, I remember you. They used to tie you up-.”

“It's a living.” The girl said dryly. “Candle’s out again.” She held the now unlit candle out.

Hotch lit it.  
“How’d you get mixed up in this shit anyways?”  
“Guess I'm just born to be bad.” The girl teased, getting back to her search.  
“Yeah.” Hotch said dryly. “I’ve seen bad. Seen people shiver like that too.”  
“I have no heat - I told you-.”

“And sweat-.”

“I got a cold!”   
“Uh huh.” Hotch deadpanned. Something caught his eye lying near his feet. A small

plastic bag.  
“Here it - um,”  he stooped and picked it up.   
“What's that?” The girl asked and the hunger in her voice was painfully familiar.

* * *

 

_ “Haley you’ve got to STOP!”  _

_ “Aaron,’m tired. Let me sleep a little longer.” _

_ “It’s three in the afternoon.You cannot keep doing this.” _

_ “Just one more. Please Aaron, it hurts so much. Just let me one more time.” _

* * *

 

  
“It's a candy bar wrapper.” Hotch said putting the bag behind his back and into his pocket. The girl eyed him suspiciously but eventually smiled, moving closer to where he stood.  
“We could light the candle.” She said, raising an eyebrow in question.  
“Um, that was my last match.” Hotch said, taking a step back.  
“Our eyes'll adjust,” she said, moving close enough to touch his hand. “Thank God for the moon.”

“You hands are cold.” He said, cautiously clasping her pale hand in his.

“Yours too.” The girl responded, squeezing his hand. “Big. Like my father’s.” For a moment a sad look crossed her face but she quickly replaced it with a seductive one.  
“You wanna dance?”

“With you?” The girl rolled her eyes, tugging Hotch closer to her until they were holding one another and swaying side to side.  
“No -- with my father.”

“I’m Aaron.” The girl smiled and leaned in closer, so close Hotch could feel her breath on his face.  
“They call me Emily.” Before he had time to react she reached into his pocket, nabbed her stash and hurried out of the room leaving Hotch shellshocked and in need of a very cold shower.   
  
  



	5. Today 4 U

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You earned THIS” Kevin said hesitantly, taking the offered money. “On the street?”  
> “Oh!” Spencer said. “No, not like that! I just got lucky actual. I was just walking down Avenue A when this woman in a limousine pulled up next to me and rolled her window down...”

“Look who I found outside!” Kevin cried excitedly, throwing the loft door ajar. “It’s Santa Claus!” Morgan trailed behind him, a bandage on his head and a cardboard box filled with boxes, cans, and bottles under one arm. Under his other arm he carried a bundle of firewood. 

“Your key.” Morgan said, tossing said item in Kevin’s direction. 

“You were gone for hours!” Kevin said, catching the key. “And you look like hell. Are you alright?”

“Never been better!” Morgan replied, a goofy grin on his face. He limped over to the table in the center of the loft and unloaded his box of goodies. 

“No way!” Kevin cried, rushing over. “Bananas, coffee, Captain Crunch, Stoli!” He held up the bottle of vodka triumphantly. “It’s a Christmas feast!”

“Did you strike gold at MIT?” Hotch asked, taking the firewood from Morgan and dumping it into the stove. 

“They expelled me for my theory of actual reality.” Morgan said casually, throwing himself down on the threadbare couch. “I’ve got a new job starting soon. New York University.” 

“Then where did you get all this?” Hotch said, grabbing a banana. “Did you hold up a grocery store?” Morgan grinned knowingly, getting up and walking toward the door. 

“Nope! Got myself a sugar daddy. Or a benefactor as he would say. Gentlemen I am pleased to introduce the incomparable Spencer Reid!” He threw open the door with a flourish, revealing a shy looking, red faced Spencer.

“I’m not his sugar daddy.” The younger man said immediately, walking inside. “I just happen to have more money than usual and what good is money if you can’t share it. Which reminds me…” He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved several twenty dollar bills, which he handed to Hotch and Kevin. 

“Did you rob a bank?” Hotch asked suspiciously, taking in the boy’s thin frame and slight build.

“No!” Spencer said indignantly. “I earned it!

“You earned THIS” Kevin said hesitantly, taking the offered money. “On the street?”

“Oh!” Spencer said, blushing even darker now. “No, not like that! I just got lucky actual. I was just walking down Avenue A when this woman in a limousine pulled up next to me and rolled her window down...”

  
  


“Darling, be a dear.” The older woman said before thrusting a small, angry looking dog at Spencer. Almost immediately the dog started growling and lunged toward him, tiny teeth bared.

“I need you to take Evita.” Spencer blinked at her in disbelief.

“Who?”

“My neighbors’ akita.” The woman said distastefully. “Evita. I swear I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep in a year. This stupid mutt barks all hours of the day and night. I’ve written them letters, made phone calls, nothing. So here we are.” She took advantage of Spencer’s surprise and pushed the dog into his arms. Evita took this as an invitation to snap at his fingers.

“What am I supposed to do with her?” Spencer squeaked, awkwardly holding the creature as far away from his body as possible. “I don’t want a dog. And dogs hate me.” As if to prove his point, Evita dug her nails into his arm.

“I couldn’t care less what you do with that curr.” The woman scoffed. “Just make her disappear.” 

“No.” Spencer said, shaking his head. “This is all kinds of illegal. I’m not going to-.”

“I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you take her.” Spencer hesitated.

“...A thousand dollars?”

“Tax free.” The woman added, pulling a stack of twenties from her purse. 

  
  


“So what did you do with the dog?” Kevin asked, stuffing half a banana in his mouth.

“I took her to my friend Ian’s on the Upper East Side.” Spencer said. “I had to take the subway. She wasn’t too happy about that.” He held up his hands, both covered in bandages, as proof. “He lives on the twenty-third floor. And when I finally got there and put her down she tore off and, well his window was open and…” He clapped his hands together. “Right into the courtyard of the Gracie Mews.” 

“What happened then?” Hotch asked, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Spencer shrugged.

“No idea. I didn’t stick around to find out. Hey Morgan can you pass me a cup of coffee?”


End file.
